


Sublime

by MorganaMoonstone



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician), Wasteland Baby - Hozier (Album)
Genre: Alcohol, Chicago (City), Drinking, Drunken Kissing, Established Relationship, F/M, Hozier, Immersive Writing, Kissing, No Dialogue, No Sex, Romance, mature situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22843180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganaMoonstone/pseuds/MorganaMoonstone
Summary: Did you know that during Prohibition era, Green Doors were used to signify a Speakeasy? Andrew's visiting and you know just where to take him for a quiet drink.
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Character(s), Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s), Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Other(s), Andrew Hozier-Byrne/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Sublime

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little immersive story I thought up after visiting one of my favorite establishments in town. I was sitting there wondering what it would be like to bring our favorite Forest King, so I wrote just that. It felt good without dialogue, so I kept it that way. I definitely don't own the characters and don't know him personally - this is purely fictional. See the end for photos of the Bar!
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s been snowing for two days now. The kind of snow you only see in the movies; thick, wet flakes that stick to your cheeks and hair, that make girls glisten in the lamplight. It doesn’t stick to the road, but there’s a few inches of white fluff on the sidewalks, crunching under boot falls and threatening to blanket the city in a quiet trance.

You both sit in the back of the Uber; legs crossed together, bundled under large, thick coats and scarves. You pull up to a tavern and thank the driver, careful not to slip on the fresh powder. It’s cold, but the hand in yours is soft and warm, long fingers squeezing as he gently pulls you towards the green door. The cacophony from inside is steady as you show your IDs to the guard at the entrance; some game playing on the screens above the bar. There are a myriad of people here, but mostly younger professionals, clearly coming off a week or work here to unwind after a long day. 

However, this isn’t your destination. Shuffling through the crowded bar, you pass through the smoke and stale scent of alcohol towards the back. Long fingers intertwined with yours, you guide him past the pool tables, left and down a flight of stairs. You glance back at him as you reach the bottom of the stairs; a seemingly dead-end, save a few restrooms and shelves with vintage baubles and a sign. 

You rap on the wall; once, twice, three times…

The shelves swing forward and a hostess greets you. Behind her, a restored hidden speakeasy alive with well-dressed individuals, socializing and mingling in the darkness. A few tables and a bar, there’s also a small stage with a sheer curtain, black and white movies playing on it’s folds, under strings of lights. The music is low and a stark contrast from the scene upstairs - the feeling of stepping back in time after descending a particular number of stairs. 

As the hostess explains a little of the History to the two of you, you watch his eyes alight with curiosity. This place was meant for him, it’s written in the tooth-filled grin on his face. When the hostess turns to seat you, he brings your hand to his lips for a swift kiss. 

_You did good._

When you two were discussing what to do for his visit, you insisted on having a nice evening out together. Dressed to the nines, no exceptions! It was a rare thing to get him on your soil and you wanted to take every advantage of his presence. For the occasion, he went with the Johnny Cash look; a fully black, three-piece suit. He skipped the tie and opted to leave his shirt unbuttoned at the top, which frankly was partly the reason you were almost late for the Uber. You had opted to match, wearing a black wrap dress and heels, your long hair brushing your back and smelling of firewood and vanilla. Now, he finally slips off his coat near the entrance, hair slightly damp from the snowfall, and cheeks red from the cold - your heart tapping loudly against your chest and your cheeks flushed. How utterly distracting..

His hand low on your back, he accompanies you as you follow the hostess to a table near the stage. She then hands you the drink menu - a tarot deck with each drink on a separate card. He smirks as you hand him the cards, clearly entertained. She says something about the specials and mentions there will be a performance shortly. You thank her and turn your attention to Andrew. 

The warm, dreamy atmosphere envelops the room and you can feel yourself relax, enamored with his elated expression. There’s something so captivating about the way he looks tonight, the place you’re in, and the two of you coming together after a long absence. You reach for his hand again, leaning across the table for a chaste kiss. His cheeks flush and you giggle, still pleased you can provoke a reaction like that. You proceed to give him a “reading”, which involves you pulling different cards from the tarot deck, and describing the drinks. You both find cards that are intriguing, and when a handlebar-mustached waiter comes by, you place your drink order, eager to experience what you’ve chosen. 

In the interim, your conversation drifts - the last few phone calls clearly not doing either of your lives justice, It’s been a long tour for him, and he’s glad to be on a break, eager to spend time with his family and you. He asks about your job - it’s been a stressful week, but his visit has gotten you through the snow-filled February. His hand still interlocked on the table, thumb gently brushes your knuckles and you internally thank the bar owner for keeping the lights so dim. The effect is quite pleasing and your trail of thought strays. Thankfully, the waiter comes back with your drinks and you shift your focus to the enchanting drinks on your table. 

You sip the pale yellow liquid, sharp citrus and vanilla undertones dancing on your tongue. It’s lovely…he sips his Whiskey and Sherry concoction, rapt expression clear in the dim light. You both chuckle, commenting on your choices and you both reminisce about your past mischievousness under the influence. It didn’t happen often, but being with him always made you a little more adventurous than normal and had led to some intriguing evenings.

The music suddenly shifts and your attention is drawn to the stage - a beautiful girl begins to dance with LED lit hoops, the effect quite mesmerizing as she sways to the melody. The two of you politely watch her choreography, enjoying the effect the lights have on her and the surroundings. You wonder vaguely how she can contort her body into that particularly intriguing shape, entranced by the lights and sounds under the dim lighting. Her song shortly ends and you join in the applause, happy that you chose a night with interesting performances. When you turn to Andrew, he’s staring at you, a lazy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

That smile would be the death of you. Completely able to melt the most frigid and bitter cynic, you playfully berate him. The two of you languidly falling back into your own little world, conversation coming easy as you savor your libations. The air was thick, and the closeness made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. There was something about the energy of the night, the atmosphere, the way you both combined together in this slow dance, pulling each other in.. the constant flow was exquisite and you two relished in movement.

It was several hours later, after a few drinks and suggestive exchanges that you decided to finish your latest beverage and close out the tab. Your legs entwined under the table, your touch electric as you attempt to distract your now tingling flesh by flagging down the waiter. Finally, bill paid and the crowd severely diminished, you shrug your coat and purse on and make your way to the exit, thanking the hostess as you withdraw into the passageway. The bookshelf closes and you climb up the stairs, hyperaware of his eyes on you on the ascent. The Tavern above has thinned after the game and you head out into the cold evening. You stop and ask him about ordering a ride, but he pulls you South, heading round the corner to an alley. 

The moment you’re both out of sight from the albeit mostly vacant, chilled streets of the city, his hands are on you; lips finding yours in the faint glow of the streetlights, snow dancing around you. His mouth is warm, and the aroma of whiskey still lingers on his tongue. You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks, the tip of your nose buzzing and you sway lightly - his hands finding your waist in your open coat. The cold brick of the wall behind you a mere afterthought, all you can think is how much you want him. Breath coming in short puffs of mist, your fervor only matched by the desire to take this somewhere more private so you can continue this particular adventure.

Somewhere between kisses and harried breaths, you dislodge from each other - both looking quite disheveled as you hurry to the main road and hail a cab. It would be impossible to make it home without a little tête-à-tête, but you’re hoping the taxi will provide a tad more privacy from the prying eyes of the odd passerby. Andrew’s long fingers interlaced with yours, he flags one down and you pile into the back, eager to make it back to his hotel. 

Unsure of how, during the ride your legs inexplicably end up draped over his lap, coats open and skin exposed and flushed. Drowsiness had taken it’s toll, but instead of sleep, brought a languid untroubled sort of dance. His lips are on your neck and you close your eyes, savoringly the sweet agony. It’s a short ride, but you are grateful for the quiet restraint. The last thing you need is headlines about the two of you going at it in an alley or in the back of a cab. 

When you reach your destination, he pulls a $20 from his wallet and thanks the driver; a generous tip and a clear bribe. His hand never leaves you as you make your way to the elevators, giggling and weary. In the elevator, he steals more leisurely presses of his lips to your neck, determined to drive you over the edge with need. Gasping and much too flustered for your own good, you somehow make it back to his doorway. He struggles with the key and you pull at any fabric you can get your hands on, desperate to continue your exchange in a more intimate setting. Finally, with a ‘click’, you beam as you interlock once more, hands roaming and lips caressing exposed skin.

The door shuts and you’re together again. Work, tours, family, stress - all of the world a distant memory in his arms. Together, you are untainted by the sphere on which we all reside, and to you… _isn’t that just sublime?_

* * *

**_(Some Photos of the Speakeasy for context:)_ **


End file.
